Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Murder

“I think she’s simply intimidated. She probably can’t wait to get away from him but is scared he might become aggressive if she makes a move.”

Now it was his turn to frown. “I’ll have you know that Brutus has never in his life needed to resort to strong-arm tactics to get a female’s attention.”

“Well, he’s not in the big city now, is he? He’s in Hampton Cove, where cats are different and might not respond to him the way he’s used to.”

He laughed. “You’re damn right about that. This place is like nothing I’ve ever seen. For one thing, in New York reporters don’t investigate crime.”

“Well, out here they do, so you better get used to it, Detective.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

She stared at him in surprise. Was he finally seeing things her way?

“Have you interviewed any more suspects?” she asked.

“If I had I wouldn’t tell you,” he said simply.

So much for seeing things her way. “I thought as much. Good thing Uncle Alec keeps me informed, otherwise I’d never be able to nail this killer.”

“Now look here, Miss Poole…”

“No, you look here, Detective. I’m going to catch this killer before you even sniff out your first clue. That’s the way we do things down here.”

“And I’ll have you know, Miss Poole, that you’re in way over your head here. Catching killers is police business, and reporters like you should stick to what they’re good at: writing about mermaids and children’s library wings.”

In spite of herself she had to smile at that. Dan must have posted her articles on the site after she left. “So you’ve been reading my stuff, huh?”

“I have,” he admitted. “I need to soak in the atmosphere so I had to start somewhere. Alec suggested I start with the Gazette and take it from there.”

“You forgot about the opening of the new flower shop on Bleecker Street,” she said with a grin. “Possibly some of my best writing to date.”

“You are a great writer,” he admitted. “Which is why you should stick to that, and make sure you keep out of harm’s way.”

“Are you threatening me, Detective?” she asked, her frown returning.

“No, but the killer might, if you get too close.”

“So you’re admitting I’m getting close to solving this case, huh?”

“I’m admitting that you’re not trained to deal with a murderer on the loose, and I’d feel a lot better when you leave the sleuthing to Alec and me.”

They were at a standoff, and stood staring at each other, tension rising. But then Gran stepped in, holding up a tray of hors d’oeuvres and offering one to Chase. “Hors d’oeuvre, Detective Kingsley? I made them myself.”

He finally broke eye contact. “Thanks,” he said, popping one into his mouth.

“Has Odelia been bothering you, Detective?” Gran asked, darting a censorious glance at her granddaughter.

“She’s been making a case for inserting herself into my investigation.”

“Oh, she keeps doing that,” said Gran, clucking her tongue. “She keeps inserting herself where she shouldn’t. That’s the nosy reporter type for you.”

“Gran,” said Odelia warningly. If even her own flesh and blood was turning against her, how could she ever hope to best this overbearing cop?

“What?” asked Gran innocently. “I was just apprising Detective Kingsley of all the facts pertaining to the case. If he’s going to live and work in this town, it’s important he gets the lay of the land.”

“And I, for one, am mighty grateful for that, Mrs…”

“Muffin. Vesta Muffin,” said Gran. “I’m a widow, you know, so if you invited me over for dinner, nobody in town would talk.” She twiddled her ring-free hand in front of Chase, frivolously batting her eyes. “Free as a bird,” she said with a sound that was probably supposed to be a seductive purr but came out like a lascivious growl.

Oh, God, Odelia thought. If Gran was going to throw herself at Chase, the cop’s opinion of her family would sink even lower.

“Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Muffin,” said Chase. “That’s very kind of you.” He was looking slightly bewildered at this unexpected come-on, but Odelia wasn’t liking him well enough to come to his aid. If he thought he could handle killers and murderers so much better than she could he would have no trouble handling a septuagenarian with an overactive libido.

Which reminded her of something. She gestured at the two cats out in the yard. “Is that cat of yours fixed, Detective?”

“Why do you ask?” he asked, visibly glad for the change of topic.

“Because it’s the law. Cats are supposed to be spayed or neutered.”

“Are you afraid Brutus might sow his wild oats?” he quipped with a twinkle in his eye.

“I don’t care about his oats. I’m simply concerned that our new law officer is already breaking the law, one day after arriving in town.”

“Brutus is fixed,” said Chase with a shrug. “So your precious Persian has nothing to worry about.”

“Actually she’s my precious Persian,” said Mom, joining them. She was carrying another tray. “Finger food, Detective Kingsley? I made it myself.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Poole.”

“Marge, please.”

“You’ve got a lovely home here, Marge. And a great family,” he added with an appreciative nod at Odelia and Gran. Faced with three generations of women, it was obvious the cop was enjoying the attention, and the food, though he kept eyeing Gran a little warily as she sidled up to him.

“I like your guns,” she said, licking her lips.

“My… guns?” asked Chase, automatically feeling for his absent holster.

“Do you work out a lot?” she continued, making her point clear.

“Oh, those guns,” he said. “Um, yeah, I like to hit the gym a couple times a week. Matter of trying to stay in shape in case I need to chase a bad guy.”

“I can see how that might be important for a cop,” Gran said, and made a tentative gesture in the direction of Chase’s bicep, but restrained herself at the last moment. “Are you a meat-eater, Chase?”

“Yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact I am. Why, is this a vegan household?”

“No, of course not,” said Mom. “Just the idea. Though Odelia has gone through a vegan episode lately, haven’t you, honey?”

“Ever since she broke up with that no-good loser Sam Scurf.”

“My eating habits got nothing to do with Sam,” she said, mortified. She so didn’t want to discuss her dating life—or the lack thereof—in front of Chase.

“Who’s this Sam?” asked Chase interestedly.

“He was a crook and a loser,” Gran eagerly supplied. “She even brought him home once, and next thing we knew he’d embezzled half a million dollars from Armstrong & Tillich Bank. They caught him, though, and threw his ass in the slammer. But then Odelia always had lousy taste in men.”

She glared at her grandmother, but the old lady ignored her. “She once dated a cop, you know. Appalachian. Until Alec discovered he was wanted in a dozen states and had supplied false credentials.” She shook her snowy white head. “Always dating the bad guys, our poor Odelia.”

Odelia raised her eyes to the heavens, praying that Gran would lay off already, but the stories seemed to amuse and entertain, for Chase asked, “Any other known criminals she dated?”

“Oh, plenty, but if I told you I’d have to kill you,” Gran said with a grin, and then she did attach herself to Chase’s arm and gave his bicep a squeeze. “Oh, my. How much did you say you curled, Chase?”

“I, um…”

Even Mom now seemed to see the warning signs, for she swept in and took Gran into the house. “Let’s freshen up a little before dinner, shall we?”